


Leaning In

by dinnfameron



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multiverse, Nothing explicit, POV Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 03, just an oblivious boy figuring out his love for an even more oblivious boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinnfameron/pseuds/dinnfameron
Summary: Shortly after going into business on Rose Apothecary, Patrick starts having these incredibly vivid dreams. The reccurring theme is David: he's always there, always leaning in, and Patrick's starting to wonder if maybe the visions he's seeing aren't dreams after all.ORPatrick keeps waking up next to David, and waking up next to David, and waking up...
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 37
Kudos: 180





	Leaning In

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All The Worlds and Universes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615308) by [giidas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giidas/pseuds/giidas). 



Patrick had heard about the Rose family, sure. He’d heard a lot about the Rose family, actually. First from Bob, the guy at the garage who’d replaced Patrick’s alternator when he’d stopped for a quick bite in a town with a funny name and returned to his car to discover it wouldn’t start. Bob had been the one to tell him Ray was looking to hire a business consultant.

Bob had told him all about Ray, which eventually led to talk of the Town Council, which eventually led to talk of Moira Rose and the rest of the Rose family. Bob liked to talk.

“They’re very _interesting_ people,” Bob had chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “We don’t get many, um,” he’d looked around, dropping his voice, “people like _that_ around here.”

“Oh, okay,” Patrick had responded, unsure what, exactly, Bob meant by ‘like _that_ ’ or why he was lowering his voice conspiratorially as though someone would overhear them in the empty garage.

“Even if the bagel thing fell through!” Bob said jovially. “Still just really nice people, those Roses.”

Patrick had also heard about the Roses from Ray, when he’d gone to discuss coming on as Ray’s business consultant. Ray had given him a tour of his home-slash-office, explaining in detail all of his (many) ventures.

“I’m not the only business mogul in town, though!” Ray had laughed once they’d finished the tour and settled in Ray’s office, which was actually his living room. “Johnny Rose runs the motel; maybe you remember Rose Video?”

“I do,” Patrick replied.

“Mr. Rose is doing well with the motel, I think, even though I’d hoped he would use my realty service to sell the town.” Ray had grinned and clapped his hands in front of his chest. “Would’ve loved that commission! But I did help Mr. Rose with his coaster order, so I received a small stipend for that.”

“Neat.”

“Oh, I have samples! Would you like to see them? Maybe you’d like a few coasters to keep at your desk? I’ll just go get the box!”

Patrick had also heard about the Roses from Twyla, the woman who ran the café. He’d gone back there after moving his sparse belongings into Ray’s spare room. His plan had been to use the break to plan his next move, calculate his new budget, and maybe try to figure out what the hell he was going to tell his parents the next time they called with a million questions.

What ended up happening was Twyla standing at the end of his booth for forty-five minutes and telling him her entire life story, from her ex-stepfather’s nephew’s alien abduction to her most recent girls’ night out with Alexis Rose.

“She let me borrow this necklace,” Twyla had gushed, leaning over to show Patrick the piece of jewelry in question.

“That’s nice,” Patrick said, smiling politely.

“It is, isn’t it? Alexis is just the sweetest. All the Roses are just wonderful people. You’ll love them.” Twyla had beamed at him and Patrick wondered what it was about these Roses that had the whole town so enthralled.

He’d caught glimpses of various Roses over the next few weeks, but never formally met any of them. Ray had sent him over to the motel with a box of new marketing sample products during his first week, and Johnny was manning the desk.

“Well, thank you, young man,” he’d said as Patrick laid the box on the desk, but then the phone rang and he’d given Patrick a friendly wave goodbye and turned to answer it.

He’d held the door at the café for who he could only assume was Alexis Rose. She certainly stood out from the crowd like Patrick expected a Rose would.

“Oh my god, thank you, cutie!” she’d said, brushing her hand against his arm before bounding inside.

It was also at the café that he’d had his first encounter with Moira Rose. She was sitting at a table with a bunch of other ladies – the Jazzagals, he’d heard them call themselves – they were pretty loud, in fact, which was how he knew the woman in the elaborately befeathered ensemble with the matching hat was called Moira, though she was also as obviously not of the town as her daughter. When the Jazzagals all got up to leave, Mrs. Rose had left her handbag on the table.

“Uh, Mrs. Rose?” Patrick called, scooping it up. “I think you left this?”

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Rose’s voice was melodic, though he couldn’t place the accent. “One would lose one’s capitulum if it was not firmly adhered to one’s body!” 

So yes, Patrick was familiar with the Roses. But he had been in Schitt’s Creek for over a month before he had the honor of meeting David Rose.

+++

His 9 o’clock is late; Patrick has just about given up on them. He’s just stepped into the kitchen to make himself some tea when he hears Ray call his name from the living room.

He’s used to Ray calling him into these photography sessions by now to ask his opinion or have him hold a prop. But when he rounds the corner, his face schooled into what he hopes is a pleasantly neutral, in no way annoyed expression, Ray is standing beside a tall, good-looking guy in a dark sweater.

“B-13!” Ray chirps at him cheerfully, gesturing to the guy, then turns back to his shoot.

“Oh, um, this is for you,” the guy hands him his ticket, and Patrick reaches out to shake his hand.

“Patrick.”

“David.”

After that, David is trying and failing to explain his business concept. He’s gesturing broadly with his hands and rambling about branded immersive experiences, and Patrick likes him instantly. David is funny, and obviously smart, despite his apparent struggle to translate his ideas into anything cohesive, and his face is so, so expressive.

Patrick shakes his head after David leaves, wondering if he’ll ever hear from him again. He thinks he will. David has a lot of good ideas; he just needs someone to help him focus his creativity.

After listening to the third of many voicemails left for him by a clearly stoned David Rose, Patrick decides he’s going to be the one to help David get his business off the ground.

+++

They fall into an easy rhythm after that. Patrick’s hours are filled with David and the store: writing grants, conducting market research, drafting vendor contracts. He meets the rest of the Roses, properly this time, and Stevie, David’s delightfully acerbic best friend.

When he isn’t working on things for the store, and sometimes even when he should be, Patrick teaches himself how to read David. Because David Rose may be a walking piece of performance art, but a lot of that (most of it, Patrick’s learning) is an act. David doesn’t allow himself to be vulnerable with many people, and Patrick takes it as a challenge, learning to read the hidden language behind everything David does.

He learns how to tell when David’s unsure but pretending not to be, how to tell when he’s deflecting real pain with a self-deprecating joke. Patrick learns how to tell when his own ribbing is starting to cut a little too close, and he backs off, gives David a friendly pat on the back or a wink to let him know it’s all in fun. They’re in this together, and Patrick may find David hilarious, but he isn’t a joke. Not to Patrick.

The truth is, Patrick is drawn to David. He has been from the jump, and he doesn’t know what it means or what he’s supposed to do about it, but he doesn’t seem capable of pumping the brakes either. So he goes with the flow, follows in the wake that David carves through his days.

Sometimes he thinks David might be drawn to him, too. He catches the way David leans in when Patrick is speaking, how his whole body angles toward him. Maybe its wishful thinking, but Patrick notices how the tension forever radiating from David’s entire being seems to lessen just a fraction when Patrick is around, how his countenance visibly settles when Patrick walks in the room.

Maybe David’s just relieved to have someone else to shoulder the burden of the store with, Patrick reasons. Either way, he tries his best to earn David’s trust. He doesn’t think too much about why, but Patrick knows that he wants to be one of those few people David lets himself be vulnerable around.

+++

He wakes with a pounding headache. It takes him a minute to register anything other than the throbbing pain at his temples and shooting down his neck. The bedding is warm around him, and his sleep pants are gone. _That’s weird_ , he thinks. He usually sleeps in a t-shirt and pants, though he does occasionally get hot during the night and whip his pants off, sometimes without even registering it.

He stretches his legs a little and burrows his face deeper into the pillow, letting a low groan escape him. He was going to have to get up and take something for this headache.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick hears a sleep-muffled voice say in his ear, and his head shoots up so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

It’s David. David is in the bed beside him, squinting hard and looking like he’s struggling to crack an eye open.

“David, wha-?” Patrick says eloquently.

David’s eyes slide open a bit, and he reaches out to smooth a hand down Patrick’s back. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Baby!” Patrick echoes. He tries to extricate himself from the bed, but his feet get tangled in the sheets, and he ends up falling on the floor.

“Oh my god, Patrick!” he hears David exclaim. Then the other man is coming around to his side of the bed and kneeling beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Patrick has no idea how to answer that. He casts a glance around the room, looking for anything that could clue him in to what’s going on. They’re in his room at Ray’s, and other than David’s shoes by the door and David’s leather duffel at the foot of the bed, it looks the same as it always does. 

David lays his palm against Patrick’s cheek, his eyes searching Patrick’s own. Patrick closes his eyes and gives his head a little shake, trying to clear it. His head is still pounding, and the hot itch he recognizes as anxiety is snaking up the back of his neck to join the throbbing ache. He can hear David breathing beside him, though, and it comforts him. He opens his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he manages. David sits back on his heels and gives Patrick the space he needs to maneuver himself back up onto the bed. Patrick grips the back of his neck, working the muscles there. “I just have a really bad headache.”

“Okay, I’ll get you something.” David pats his thigh, pulling himself to his feet and leaving the room. Patrick can hear him rummaging around in the bathroom across the hall.

“Did you – you slept here?” Patrick calls. He’s trying to remember David coming over last night. Maybe they’d gotten drunk? That would explain the headache and the… ‘David in his bed’ of it all. But try as he might, Patrick distinctly remembers falling asleep alone in his bed like always, sober as a judge. And if he’d maybe been thinking about David as he drifted off, well, that was between him and the roses on the wallpaper. 

“Um, hi, Alexis still has the flu, remember? God, I hope she didn’t give it to you.” David sweeps back into the room carrying a cup of water and the plastic tub of detritus that Patrick keeps in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. “I told you it was not a good idea to let her sample that lip balm on you – I guarantee her grody little germs were all over it.”

He sets the water on the nightstand, tosses the medicine kit on the bed, and starts rifling through it. “What do we think, ibuprofen for the headache? Or maybe Tylenol – do you feel like you have a fever?”

He lays a hand against Patrick’s forehead. The sudden contact makes Patrick flinch, and David gives him another worried glance.

“I’m – I’m okay, David,” Patrick says, because even in his current state, easing David’s anxiety remains a reflex he can’t ignore. “Maybe some ibuprofen?”

David hands him the pills and he swallows them, gulping down the cool water.

“Okay, well, I think you should stay in bed this morning,” David tells him. “I can handle opening the store on my own.” He’s gently rubbing the base of Patrick’s skull and watching him warily, and it’s all a bit much to take.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Patrick agrees. He lets David guide him back until he’s lying down, David covering him with the blankets. David takes the medicine kit and empty cup and leaves the room, returning moments later with a full glass of ice water from the kitchen, which he sets on the nightstand. He grabs his bag and slips back into the bathroom for a few minutes, and when he returns he's fully dressed in a new outfit.

“I’ll come back at lunch to check on you,” David tells him.

Patrick watches David put on his shoes, tries his best to make sense of any of this. He doesn’t understand why David is here, why there’s this sudden intimacy between them, why Patrick doesn’t remember anything of how they ended up in bed together. More than that, though, Patrick wonders why he isn’t particularly bothered by any of it. In fact, despite the pounding headache and confusion, waking up next to David had been kind of… nice.

“Thank you, David,” he hears himself say. “For taking care of me.”

David’s smile is small and secret on his face. “Of course. Get some rest, okay honey?”

And then he’s gone and Patrick drifts back to sleep.

+++

When Patrick wakes up again, it’s to his morning alarm going off. He glances around his room, but it’s exactly how he remembers it before going to sleep the night before. No duffel at the foot of his bed. No dent in the pillow beside him. Patrick’s headache is gone, and he’s even wearing his sleep pants again. Any sign that David was ever there has disappeared.

He checks his phone and sees a missed text from David. 

_{David} I’m running late shocking i know. Just now getting in the shower. I will give you $8000 to have a coffee waiting for me when i get to the store_

Patrick ignores the clenching in his chest when he realizes the whole vision of waking up next to David had simply been an _incredibly_ vivid dream. He bites his cheek to stop himself from shooting off a dig about David always being late or the fact that he doesn’t even have $8000 to spare.

He knows that if David is at the ‘getting in the shower’ stage of his morning routine, Patrick’s still got a good hour before he’ll make it to the store, and it’s not like they’re in a rush to be there at a certain time anyway. They won’t be open for a few more weeks, another solid clue that his previous encounter with David was all in his own head, because _that_ David had talked about opening the store. Patrick decides a quick shower is in order for himself before he starts the day: he needs to wash away the feeling of David’s hand on his cheek before he sees him again. 

+++

Patrick’s not any more prepared for it the second time it happens.

He knows it’s David before he even opens his eyes. The scents of David’s shampoo and the cedar cologne he always wears are as familiar to Patrick as anything by now. But there’s no way, he reasons, that he could ever be prepared for the feeling of David’s lips on his neck, sucking softly on a spot behind his ear. Or David’s hands running along his chest with no particular sense of purpose, just exploring, roaming; there’s no way Patrick could have been prepared for _that._ Or David’s legs tangled in his own.

“Um,” Patrick says.

“Oh, good morning,” David purrs in his ear, and Patrick’s entire body _shivers._ David pulls back, looking at him, his hands settling on Patrick’s chest, folding over his heart.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, that sideways smile back on his face, like the two of them are sharing a private joke.

“I…did,” Patrick answers. He has no idea what he’s supposed to say, but supposes if it’s _his_ dream he can probably just wing it. “Did you?” 

“Mmhmm,” David affirms, leaning in to kiss at Patrick’s neck again. “I had a _very_ satisfying evening, thank you for asking.”

“Okay,” Patrick huffs an embarrassed laugh. “Well, that’s…good to hear. Um-” Patrick rests a tentative hand on David’s (thankfully clothed) shoulder. “Do you think we could – just talk?”

David’s lips are off of him immediately. He searches Patrick’s face for a moment before the worried look on his own softens.

“Sure. Always.” David shimmies down the bed a bit to lay his head on Patrick’s shoulder, wrap a hand around Patrick’s ribcage. The two of them lie silently for a moment.

“What should we talk about?” David stage whispers, surprising another laugh out of Patrick.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “This feels… weird.”

“Bad weird?” David asks, and Patrick can feel him tense, though there’s no apprehension in his voice.

“No,” Patrick tells him truthfully. “Not bad weird.”

“Mmm, good weird then,” David murmurs, using his arm to pull Patrick closer, just a little. “I can work with that. Good weird is my comfort zone.”

Patrick absently runs his hand back and forth along David’s shoulder.

“It’s just – it’s a weird thing to dream about,” Patrick says, almost to himself. “I don’t know why I keep having them.”

He hears David gasp, and Patrick can envision the way David’s face must look even though he can’t see it: his eyebrows shooting up in surprise and intrigue, his mouth dropping open.

“Are you saying you dream about me?” David teases him. “This is like a literal _dream come true_ for you, is what you’re saying?”

Patrick groans in mock protest, because this back-and-forth banter thing with David? This is easy; this he can do.

“I don’t think that’s quite what I said.”

“Mmm no, what I’m hearing is that I’m your Dream Lover.” David draws circles into Patrick’s side with his fingers. “Your Fantasy, if you will.”

“Okay, David.”

“Your Honey.”

“Yes, thank you, Mariah. Got it.” Patrick’s trying to keep his voice light but David saying ‘honey’ has him thinking about the last dream he had. And it _is_ strange, Patrick thinks, because when he’s with David like this is doesn’t feel like a dream. It feels real. It feels right.

Patrick doesn’t say anything else, though, just lets David keep taunting him. Eventually, David drops it, the two of them settling into silence again, and Patrick drifts back to sleep. 

+++

The dreams, or whatever they are, happen much more frequently after that.

+++

He wakes in an apartment he doesn’t recognize with a curtain for a bathroom door and David is there, smiling coyly at him from across the bed.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Patrick answers with a small smile of his own and David draws closer. He finds Patrick’s hand in the bed and interlaces their fingers. His eyes drift closed and Patrick follows suit.

+++

He wakes in a bed at the motel pressed along every inch of David’s side. He wonders if there’s a bed that’s smaller than a twin? If so, this must be one of those. David stirs, kisses him on the temple. Patrick doesn’t even have a chance to react, though, because Alexis is calling them gross from across the room, and David slips out of the bed, sniping at her on his way to the shower. Patrick rolls over so he’s facing the door and lets sleep take him again.

+++

He wakes to a warm, solid presence at his back, an arm wrapped tight around his ribcage, a hand over his heart. Patrick doesn’t move, is almost afraid to breathe. He listens to David’s even breaths behind him, and, after a while, plucks up enough courage to lay his hand over David’s, careful not to wake him. Patrick fights it for as long as he can, but eventually, David’s slow, even breaths lull him back to sleep.

+++

He wakes at Ray’s and the space beside him in the bed is empty. Disappointed, Patrick stumbles down to the kitchen and is surprised to find David there. The couch is made up like a bed and David’s struggling to get Ray’s needlessly complex coffeemaker to work.

“David?” Again, Patrick struggles to know what to say. Asking David why he wasn’t in Patrick’s bed seems wrong on a surplus of levels, even if it is the only question on his mind. 

“Hi, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” David says softly.

“You didn’t.” Patrick nudges David out of the way and pounds twice on the basket like Ray taught him. It slides into place, and he shuts the lid, flips the switch to ‘on.’ He turns to face David, settling a hip against the counter and crossing his arms. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did, thanks,” David says, nodding. “Since moving in to the motel I’ve mastered the art of sleeping on a surface that’s much too small for my frame.”

“I should’ve let you have the bed-” Patrick starts.

“No, that’s not what I was implying!” David interjects, hands flailing. “It was very generous of you to let me stay here.”

David is leaning toward him like he had the other times, Patrick notices. But it feels like there’s a barrier between them, like something’s stopping David from pressing all the way into Patrick’s space. Patrick finds that he misses it, the way David usually reaches for him, the way he’s always drawing close.

David gives him an uncertain smile, his expression friendly but guarded, and Patrick thinks maybe he hates this dream.

“You can stay with me anytime, David,” he says earnestly, clenching his fists to keep himself from reaching for David like he wants to.

He has tea while David has coffee and this dream is different from the others in another way too: Patrick doesn’t wake up right away. Usually he falls back to sleep and then, poof, wakes up back in his room at Ray’s, sans David.

This time he spends the entire day with David, preparing for the store opening, discussing the fallout of a potential lice outbreak at the motel, trading jokes and jabs like they always do. It’s too familiar and too real and Patrick hates it, definitely hates it.

When he finally crawls back into bed that night – in a Davidless house because apparently Alexis is now lice free and there’s no more reason for David to crash with him – Patrick is definite about something else too.

These visions of David? He’s pretty sure they’re not just dreams.

+++

He wakes and it's Rachel asleep beside him, matching rings glinting on their left hands. Patrick rolls over, his back to her, and screws his eyes shut tight.

+++

He wakes and he’s in a hard chair in a hospital hallway. He peers into the nearest room and sees David laid out in the bed, his eyes closed. His face is all cut up and his right arm is in a sling. Alexis is asleep beside him in a chair that’s been pushed as close as possible to the edge of the bed, her hand curled around his.

Even once Patrick has made it to the bed in the apartment he apparently shares with David, it takes him hours to cry himself back to sleep.

+++

He wakes and David’s asleep beside him. Patrick watches him sleep for a long time. It’s not until David stirs, waking with a warm, liquid smile on his face, that Patrick notices the four gold rings on his left hand, the single gold band shining on his own.

+++

He wakes when it’s still dark outside, and David’s on the far side of the bed, the bedding piled on top of him so that only the top of his head is visible. Patrick reaches for him before his brain even clocks what he’s doing.

“Hi,” he murmurs, and David turns over-

Except, it isn’t David. It’s some guy Patrick’s never seen before, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Hi,” the stranger says, and Patrick’s pulling his hand back, sliding out of the bed, mumbling something about not feeling well and going to sleep on the couch.

“Okay, handsome,” the guy says, already snuggling back under the covers, and Patrick wants to scream, or cry, or puke because that’s David’s side of the bed, actually, and who the _fuck_ are you?

He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and tries to make himself comfortable so sleep will come on quick. Instead, he lays there for hours, thinking about David.

+++

He wakes and he’s back on the couch again, but this time David’s there. He’s covering Patrick like a blanket, the two of them sprawled out and fully clothed, Patrick’s feet kicked up on the coffee table. It’s dark outside, the only light coming from the screensaver rolling across the TV screen. Patrick doesn’t ever want to move. But his arm is also very numb where it’s pinned under David’s hip. He tries to wrench it free as gently as he possibly can.

“Mmmm,” David says.

“Shhh,” Patrick responds, willing David to stay still. 

“We fell asleep,” David murmurs.

“Looks that way.” Patrick refuses to open his eyes.

“We said we wouldn’t,” David whines.

“Well,” Patrick says, finally wrenching his arm free. He shakes his hand out a few times, then brings it to rest between David’s shoulder blades. “It would appear we were mistaken.”

“We are terrible at date night.”

“I don’t know, David,” Patrick tells him, his voice going fond. “Seems like it was a successful date night to me.”

“Patrick.” David shifts away from him a little, and Patrick tightens his grip on David’s back to keep him from travelling too far. He can already tell from the way David said his name that he’s gearing up for a monologue. “All we ever do is run the store. I planned a very nice date night, and what did we do? We fell asleep ten minutes after we got home from the restaurant-”

“Mhmm,” Patrick concurs, trying to sound sympathetic.

“-We didn’t even make it through the first act of the romcom I picked out. We didn’t get to the slow dancing.” Patrick can feel David’s chin resting on his chest, knows he’s looking up at him. “Or the sex.”

Patrick chokes on nothing but tries to pass it off as a cough. “Well, there’s always next time,” he says.

“There’s always now,” David responds, his voice low, and before Patrick can process _that_ there’s a graze of teeth on his earlobe and David’s mouth is hot on his neck.

“David, that’s-” Patrick gasps out, and Jesus, his body is responding to David on a cellular level.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” David purrs in his ear, wrapping a hand around Patrick’s bicep and hauling them both to their feet.

Patrick grabs David’s shoulders, stopping him from leaning in.

“That’s-” he tries again. “David, yes, that’s, um, we should do that, but.”

David’s smiling at him, seemingly entertained by Patrick’s inability to form a coherent thought.

“I’m still pretty tired, though,” Patrick tries. “Can we just go back to sleep for a little while?”

David looks like he’s weighing it, but to Patrick’s relief, he doesn’t look disappointed. Thank god, Patrick thinks, because the last thing he wants is to disappoint David, but he’ll also be damned if his first time is with some sort of alternate timeline version of David or whatever the hell this is.

“Okay, yes,” David nods. “We can go to sleep, as long as you promise that we will continue this the moment we wake up. I’m expecting, like, multiple orgasms.”

Patrick laughs and lets David pull him toward their bed. “Ask me again when you wake up.”

+++

He wakes in an apartment he doesn’t recognize, the bed empty beside him. He checks the couch, the bathroom; there’s no one else there. He finds his phone and scrolls through his messages, his contacts, his social media. His parents’ names are there, as are his aunts, uncles, cousins, his friends from back home. Rachel’s there, with a different last name. He looks for David. He looks for Stevie, Alexis, Mr. & Mrs. Rose, Ray, even Ronnie. His phone gives no indication that they exist in his life.

He pulls up Google and types in ‘David Rose,’ and the top result is a third-tier celebrity website detailing the latest installation opening at David's gallery. David is quoted talking about a new artist. Patrick scrolls through the other results and there’s David making an appearance at a celebrity wedding, or on the arm of some actor at a premiere, or stepping off a plane with Alexis in some tropical locale. He looks gorgeous in every picture, but his smile’s all wrong and there’s a tightness in his eyes Patrick’s never seen.

He sets the phone down and gets back in bed, pulling the covers tightly around himself, staring at the ceiling.

He’s never met David Rose here.

He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

+++

“Honey, we are going to be late, get up!” David calls from the bathroom. Patrick isn’t even surprised anymore. He wonders what adventure this David and this other Patrick had planned for today. He rolls himself into a sitting position and plants his feet on the floor, scrubbing a hand across his face.

David comes out of the bathroom, a billow of steam following him. He’s fully dressed, a bath towel wrapped around his head, and it’s deeply endearing.

“You slept in ‘til almost nine, who _are_ you?” David squints, a small smile pulling his mouth to the left. He crosses the room and comes to a stop between Patrick’s legs, smoothing his hands across Patrick’s shoulders.

“Good morning,” David says softly.

Patrick should be used to it by now, this familiarity. The way David seems pulled to him, the way he’s always leaning in. He should be used to it, but it steals his breath every time. He watches David’s mouth and David catches him at it, his smile widening briefly before he leans down and kisses Patrick.

Patrick reacts immediately, kissing him back, his hands coming up to rest on David’s waist of their own accord. He wonders if this is what he would do, the other Patrick, if this is how he would kiss David. He gets too in his head about it, and David must feel it, the uncertainty, because he pulls back. He stares into Patrick’s eyes for a moment, searching, and he must see something there he doesn’t like because he steps back, his hands falling from Patrick’s shoulders.

“Oh,” David says. “You’re not him.”

“I’m… not?” Patrick says dumbly, and David tips his head all the way back in that way he does when Patrick says something particularly _distressing_.

“You’re not _my_ Patrick,” he clarifies, his hands moving emphatically. This never changes, Patrick’s noticed, the way David speaks with his whole body.

“I’m… no, I’m not,” Patrick confesses.

“Ah,” David says.

“How did you know? Wait – are you not freaked out?”

David huffs a laugh, his hands coming up to press briefly into his eyes. “It’s not like it’s the first time this has happened.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope,” David pops the ‘p’ and shakes his head. “You are the… third? Patrick I’ve met. Other than my own.” He sits on the bed beside Patrick. “Also you don’t kiss me like he does.”

“How does he kiss you?” It’s not what Patrick meant to ask, at all, but the curiosity is killing him. How does the other Patrick kiss David? How does David like to be kissed?

“Like he’s done it before, for one,” David’s eyebrow is quirked, teasing. “I remember how it was, when we first started, um…” he trails off. “You kiss like that.”

“Like I have no idea what I’m doing?” Patrick grimaces.

“Like you’re not one hundred percent sure, but you really want to be.”

“Oh,” Patrick can’t keep the disappointment from his voice.

“It’s not a bad thing,” David assures him, laying a gentle hand on his knee. “I always liked it, that you wanted to be sure about me.”

They sit in silence for a minute. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone about this, Patrick realizes.

“So I take it you and, um, your David aren’t… together?”

“No,” Patrick glances at David out of the corner of his eye. “We’re just friends.”

David nods.

“Um, but when I – travel? To these other… places. These other versions of us? We almost always are.”

“Yes, that tracks.” David pulls the towel off his head and runs a hand through his wet hair, letting it fall where it may. Patrick has never seen David without his hair styled and, even though he’s literally woken up next to a version of David dozens of times by now, seeing him like _this_ feels more intimate.

“The other Patricks I’ve met have said something similar,” David continues. “And when I talk to my Patrick about it, he usually sees a version of us where we’re not together, but like, we’re right on the edge.” He shrugs, like this is all normal. “We have a theory about it, actually.”

“What’s the theory?” Patrick asks.

“The – the traveling? Getting a glimpse into an alternate version of your life, what it could be? It’s just the universe’s way of making sure we end up together in as many timelines as possible.”

Patrick laughs. “Why would the universe care if we end up together?”

David shrugs again. “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

“So, um, your Patrick. He switches places with these other guys?”

“I don’t know if it’s a one-on-one switch or, like, an elaborate game of musical chairs? But yeah, he goes somewhere else. But he always comes back.” David looks down, playing with his rings. Four gold rings on his left hand.

“You’re married?” Patrick doesn’t see a ring on his own finger.

“Engaged. Wedding’s next month.” 

“Congratulations.”

David laughs. “Thanks. So what are you going to do, when you get back to not-your-David?”

“I don’t know. Any suggestions?”

+++

Patrick wakes up and it’s a day like any other.

_What are you going to do, when you get back to not-your-David?_

It’s a fair question. Because Patrick’s way past pretending that he doesn’t know what it means. Being drawn to David, being hyper-focused on everything he says and does, the way that David occupies his thoughts and his dreams and, even in a hundred other universes, remains the axis around which Patrick’s entire world spins. There’s a word for it, and maybe Patrick’s never felt that way about anyone before, but he knows damn well what it is he feels for David.

So he wakes up, in his own version of the timeline, and it’s a day like any other. Except it isn’t, because it’s David’s birthday, and Patrick’s asking him to dinner, the words coming out before his brain has even registered them. 

And later that night, when David is leaning toward him in the car, Patrick realizes that the universe has done it again, brought them together like she had all those times before. David is leaning in like always and yes, this is how the story always ends up, for them. Except this time? This time is one thousand percent better because this time it’s his own David leaning in and catching Patrick’s mouth with his.

+++

“Okay, not to make your ego any bigger than it already is, but _wow._ ” David flings himself onto the bed next to Patrick. He’s sweaty and flushed, his voice wrecked, and Patrick chuckles low in his throat.

“Same to you,” he says.

David runs his hand up and down Patrick’s forearm and hums contentedly. They lay there for a moment, catching their breaths, before Patrick gathers enough energy from somewhere to reach down the bed and locate his t-shirt in the wreckage of blankets. He uses it to clean them both up a bit, then balls it up and tosses it into the corner. He doesn’t miss the way David wrinkles his nose, disgusted. Drawing that reaction from his husband is exactly why Patrick did it.

He pulls the blankets up around them and gathers David in his arms, kisses his temple.

“’Night, honey,” David mumbles, already half asleep.

“Goodnight, David. Love you.”

As David’s breathing evens out and he goes even more lax in Patrick’s arms, Patrick thinks about all those times he woke up next to David, back when he was still figuring things out. It happens much less frequently now, the travelling, but it still happens.

Patrick will wake up in an empty bed, and David is just his _business partner_ , just his _friend_. He knows that his David is showing the other Patrick what he needs to see, knows that he’s leaning in like he always does. So Patrick tries to keep his head down and his hands to himself and not screw up the other Patrick’s life too much.

He looks down at himself and his husband, the two of them naked and so tightly wrapped around each other that it’s difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins, their wedding rings glinting side-by-side in the moonlight. If he’s honest, he half-hopes some other Patrick will wake up to this in the morning.

It might help him figure things out a hell of a lot faster.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [All the Worlds and Universes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615308), which I read years ago and which I haven’t stopped thinking about for a single day since. If you are into finnpoe, or even if you aren’t, give it a read because it is sweet and haunting and perfect. I needed a David/Patrick version because of reasons, so I wrote it. This fic is blatant thievery, is what I'm saying.
> 
> This is my first time writing from Patrick’s POV! I tried to make him all angsty and “what are these things that I am _feeling_ ,” but he wouldn’t play along. Much like in canon, he was pretty much in love with David from jump street. *shrugs* 
> 
> P.S. The strange guy Patrick wakes up next to that one time? Ken! Poor bby doesn’t stand a chance with our sweet Pat in any universe.
> 
> I'm dinnfameron on tumblr come find meeee. <3


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